Switchblade Butterflies
by TwinkleJourney
Summary: Giorno had never felt the desire to become involved in Mista's love life but what other choice did he have when Mista came in looking like THAT? This makeover was going to be a lot easier said than done and no one is going to make it out unscathed.


"How do I look?"

Glancing up at the sound of Mista's anxious voice, Giorno made a noncommittal sound of vague approval before returning to the financial documents splayed out on his desk. His neck immediately snapped back up though and his eyes widened upon doing a double take of Mista's attire. _What in the world ..._

The eighteen year old standing before him was wearing an oversized tuxedo which looked like it had been teleported straight out of a 70's prom dance. The thick lapels were a shade of pastel mint and in an obvious attempt to match the odd color, there was a royal blue sash made of satin sitting awkwardly high up on his waist. To make matters worse, his trousers were too short and there were drastically mismatched socks peeking out from between the hem and his battered up shoes.

For crying out loud! They weren't even dress shoes, they were just black sneakers.

Aghast, Giorno honestly couldn't decide if the cherry on top of this ensemble was the pinstripe waistcoat or the crooked polka-dot necktie hanging loosely around Mista's neck. All in all, it was probably the worst outfit he'd ever laid eyes on which was a staggering realization as he never would've thought Mista could possibly outdo his usual clothing choices. Had he gone to the nearest thrift shop and blindly grabbed whatever was in arms reach or what?

"W-well?" Mista prodded, his eyes gleaming with hope.

Giorno began to nervously sweat. What did he expect him to say? There was no politically correct way to say 'that entire outfit should be burned with fire' but it was clear Mista wanted some kind of feedback. He wanted an opinion, a reaction. Giorno needed to stall.

Being deliberately slow, the fifteen year old mob boss leaned back in his chair and steeped his fingers thoughtfully. He gave Mista's clothes a better look from this new angle and was dismayed to find it was even worse than he'd originally thought. Was that a cigarette burn on the jacket's chest pocket?

A tense and awkward silence claimed the room.

"What is this outfit for?" Giorno said at last, struggling to find the right words. He needed more time to think, dammit.

Mista's posture became ramrod stiff at this question and he grew pale as his shoulders began to tremble. Jesus, he looked like he was going to either vomit all over the nice rug or pass out at any moment. Possibly even both. "I-I-I have a date with T-Trish."

_Oh. Well then …_ Giorno cleared his throat unsurely. If it was Trish, then it was probably best to spare Mista's feelings here and now because she certainly wouldn't if he showed up looking like this hot mess but still. The question remained on _how_ to break it to him that he looked like he'd been dressed by a blind clown.

He valued Mista's companionship above all else and it was obvious that he was already nervous enough as it was but he couldn't beat around the bush here. It would only hurt Mista more in the long run than just being honest would. He simply had to come out and say it.

"Well, I think it has both good and bad points," Giorno said slowly, trying to work out the best way to word his critique. If he could choose between doing this or fighting Diavolo again, he'd honestly pick the latter. It would've been ten times easier, thats for sure. "For example, it looks like you washed your hair which is a good thing. But I don't think your tuxedo really fits ..."

Humming a sound of consideration, Mista experimentally rolled his shoulders as if only now realizing he was practically swimming in the jacket but he seemed to be responding well enough so Giorno decided to press on. He just had to be diplomatic, is all.

"It also looks like you have too many clashing patterns and colors mixed together. When it comes to tuxedo's, high class simplicity is best. But do you really want to go with a tux for a casual date in the middle of the day? Where are you taking her?"

Mista got that same horrified look again and Giorno began to seriously worry over the future of his Persian rug. "To lunch and then a g-gondola ride. I thought it would be romantic ..."

Finding himself slowly smiling, the blond teen heaved a gentle sigh. There really was no getting around Mista's endearing charm, like that of a stray pups, and he finally acknowledged that he wasn't going to get out of this scot-free. He couldn't just leave Mista to his own devices when he was in _this_ bad of shape. His involvement was practically mandatory at this point.

"Come on, I'll take you clothes shopping. Trish wont even recognize you after I'm done." Confident in his abilities, Giorno stood and made his way around the desk, amicably clapping the taller boy on the shoulder.

Mista promptly threw up all over not only the carpet but also Giorno's Versace shoes, much to the mob bosses horror.

XXX


End file.
